


Love Like Invisible Strings

by LourdesDeath



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Artist Bucky Barnes, Diners, M/M, Meet-Cute, War Veteran Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:03:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5774233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LourdesDeath/pseuds/LourdesDeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While eating breakfast at his favorite diner, James notices a hot blond guy who spends two days staring at him. It’s only natural that he’d take matters into his own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (Prologue) 2CELLOS. “Hysteria.” Celloverse. Sony, 2015. MP3.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from [I'm Going to Go Back There Someday](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhGi4DtZl9U), from The Muppet Movie. 
> 
> I am aware of the fact that there is no such thing as a radio station that would play the collection of music featured in this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [johnlock](johnlock-deductress.tumblr.com)-[deductress](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KeitanKetsueki/pseuds/Johnlock-Deductress) for helping me with plotting (and betaing and pretty much everything else that I ever do) and indulging me with this ridiculous thing, and to [WhatEvenAmI](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatEvenAmI/pseuds/WhatEvenAmI) for very kindly betaing for me.

Prologue

2CELLOS. “Hysteria.” _Celloverse_. Sony, 2015. MP3. 

 

\--

Click.

_“—First heard of them when their cover of AC/DC’s ‘Thunderstruck’ went viral.”_

_“Oh, my God, I literally almost died when I watched that!”_

_“Before that, I didn’t know it was even possible to headbang while playing a cello. So, of course I have to go and watch all of their YouTube videos. I couldn’t handle ‘Every Teardrop is a Waterfall’, you know, the one where they’re both playing the same cello?”_

_“And Stjepan looks at Luka like he’s the light of his life?”_

_“That’s the one!”_

_“Anyway, this is 2CELLOS’ cover of Muse’s “Hysteria”.”_

He isn’t expecting much from the song, but it certainly lives up to its inspiration.

James listens until the end of the song, but turns off the alarm/radio when the DJs start talking about how the two musicians should start dating. With that, he rolls onto his back, stretches, and gets out of bed.

After a quick shower, he styles his hair into his usual pompadour. He combs the last few strands into place, contemplating clothing options. In the end, he goes with his usual: black skinny jeans, black t-shirt, black canvas jacket, black boots.

He grabs a book off his shelf, his keys, wallet, and cellphone, and leaves his apartment.

The Bluebird Diner is a five minute walk from his building; James fell in love with it the first time he went there. It isn’t a particularly nice place—to be honest, it could use a few coats of paint and maybe a pressure-washer—but the staff is friendly and the food is good.

He sits at the back of the restaurant, near the door to the kitchen.

A waitress saunters up, her apron swishing cutely. “Hey, James. How’s it going?”

“Hi, Delilah. I’m good. You?”

“Another day in paradise,” she declares sarcastically. “The usual?”

“The usual.”

“Okay. I’ll let Adam know.”

Delilah leaves for a moment, and returns with a carafe of coffee. “So, what’re you reading today?” James holds up his book; she makes a face. “ _The Hobbit_? Again?”

“I guess I ran out of books I haven’t read.”

“You should’ve asked! I love recommending books. Especially books that actually have female characters.”

Humming in response, James adds two sugars and a little plastic cup of creamer to his coffee. He stirs the beverage. “Like what?”

“Well,” she says, leaning against the opposite side of his booth, “what are you looking for? More classics? Nonfiction? Romance? Adventure?”

James grins, leaning back into his seat. “Fantasy.”

Delilah taps her bottom lip, thinking. “There’s one really good one I can think of. It’s a little like _The Hobbit_ , with the time-travel without actual time travel thing. It’s YA, but that’s no reason not to read it.”

“What’s it about?”

She tucks her short, blonde hair behind her ear and James immediately knows he’s in for a long story. “Well, there’s this girl, she was born in this country that’s, like, kind of medieval but she lives in this other country that’s more like the early 1900s and she’s supposed to meet with her father, but he doesn’t show, but he sends this thing with his sword and these bells he uses for this magic thing he does and she thinks he’s in trouble, so she goes back to her home country and there are these monsters—”

“Delilah, quit flirting with the customers!” Adam shouts from the kitchen. “I’ve got an order ready!”

Delilah’s sigh is impressive, considering how small she is. “I’ll be right back.”

James smiles behind his coffee mug. He doesn’t know how she manages to talk for such a long time without breathing—especially considering her asthma.

Unfortunately (or fortunately), there’s a sudden rush, and she isn’t able to finish telling him the entire plot of the book. Instead, James hides behind _The Hobbit_ and eats his food in relative peace.

When his appetite is sated, he pulls out his usual 30% tip and gets up to pay. Adam’s working the till as Delilah takes orders.

“Busy day, huh?” James says as hands a twenty to the young man.

“Yeah, Millie’s off, Marilyn doesn’t come in until eleven, and we still don’t have a replacement for Lilibeth.”

Delilah comes up, a wad of papers clutched in her hands. “Here are the orders,” she says with obviously sarcastic perkiness. “Good luck.”

Adam gives James his change and takes the orders from Delilah. James can hear him grumbling as he walks away.

“I’ll tell you about that book tomorrow,” she says to James, “I know it probably sounds weird, but it’s really good.”

“Okay,” James replies. He turns to go and notices a black man across the diner gesturing towards him. His companion, a blond built like a brick house wearing a hat and glasses that don’t suit him at all, glances at him. Blondie’s jaw falls open.

James knows he’s damn fine, but this is beyond flattering. Smirking devilishly, he winks at the men as he opens the door to leave.

 


	2. OneRepublic. “Come Home.” Dreaming Out Loud. Interscope, 2007. MP3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [johnlock](johnlock-deductress.tumblr.com)-[deductress](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KeitanKetsueki/pseuds/Johnlock-Deductress) and to [WhatEvenAmI](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatEvenAmI/pseuds/WhatEvenAmI) for very kindly betaing for me.

Click.

_—Stop to take it in,_

_Well, hopefully the hate subsides and the love can begin_

_It might start now, yeah_

_Or maybe I’m just dreaming out loud…_

The song is nice, so James rolls over and listens to it; by the time the last notes finish, he feels himself starting to drift off again, so he kicks off the blankets and gets up.

\--

James has been sitting in his booth for under a minute when Delilah greets him by dropping a book on his table.

He examines the cover and is intrigued by it.

“That’s my spare copy. It’s from the library discard, so don’t worry if it gets a little beat up,” she says as she fills his mug with coffee.

James eyes the book, its pages are bent or folded in either direction and the title has fallen off the spine and been glued back on.

“Well, more beat up,” Delilah amends.

“Thanks.”

Holding the book in one hand, he adds three creamers and one sugar to his coffee while he reads. It starts out very well. When he gets to the man’s body freezing and icicles hanging from his nose, he even feels a chill run up his spine.

Delilah comes back with his food when he’s a few pages into the first chapter.

“Hey, I don’t want to freak you out, but there’s a guy over there who’s been staring at you since he came in,” she says quietly enough that only they can hear.

James looks around. The blond from yesterday is there, but he doesn’t let his gaze settle on the man.

“How long has he been here?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

His smile is more like a predatory bearing of teeth. “If he keeps it up, I’ll deal with it.”

His order of bacon, eggs over easy, pancakes, and hash browns is, as always, cooked to perfection. James drizzles old-fashioned syrup over the pancakes and digs in as he continues to read.

The book is interesting, but James can’t get his mind off the blond across the diner. He’d be lying if he said he isn’t intrigued by the man, but James wants at least to give him a chance to make the first move.

So he eats his breakfast and reads his book, pretending not to pay any attention to the man.

Delilah comes back to bus his dishes when he finishes. “So, what do you think?”

“It’s pretty good.”

“You can hold onto it.”

James smiles up at her. “Thanks.”

“So, what’re you gonna do about tall, blond, and handsome?”

Licking a little syrup off his lips, James contemplates his answer. “Dive right in.”

“Then, I guess I don’t have a chance?” she asks batting her baby blue eyes.

“You’ve got your choice of men. Leave some for the rest of us.”

“’My choice of men’ my butt.”

“Fine, don’t believe me. It’s not like Adam is interested in you at _all_.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

That gets a chuckle out of James, but he doesn’t press the subject, choosing instead to get out his wallet and give his tip to Delilah.

Millie’s at the register when he gets up to pay. “Hi, James,” she says, taking his bill.

“Mornin’, Millie.”

He grabs a peppermint from the little bowl on the counter and pops it into his mouth.

She counts out his cash and gives him his change with a receipt. “You working today?”

“You know me, nose to the grindstone.”

“Well, you be good, James.”

“I wouldn’t know how,” he replies, earning a laugh from her.

Watching the blond out of the corner of his eye, James pretends to leave.

As James turns the corner, Blond Brickhouse turns toward the window, clearly expecting to see him leaving.

James hides there for a few seconds, then turns back around and walks straight for him. Before Blondie’s even figured out what’s going on, James is sitting across from him in the booth, a smug grin on his face.

The man looks paralyzed with shock, which makes James’ smile widen.

He rests his left elbow on the table and cradles his chin in his hand. “Is there something on my face?” he asks.

“Uh—”

“Because you’ve been sitting here for nearly an hour staring at me, and it makes a guy self-conscious.”

Blond Brickhouse has the sense to look sheepish. “I’m sorry. I, uh—”

James interrupts him by holding out his right hand. “James Rogers.”

“Steven Barnes—” He slams his jaw shut so fast James can hear his teeth click. His cheeks turn pink, but he takes the offered hand. “Uh, but you can call me Steve.”

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The blush spreads to Steve’s ears. “I didn’t mean to stare at you.”

“I know it’s hard to take your eyes off me. Believe me, I get mesmerized every time I look in the mirror.”

Steve laughs, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“But I think it was more than that.”

The statement seems to sober Steve. He looks down thoughtfully for a moment. “You…” he shakes his head, sighing. “You remind me of a friend of mine who… who passed away.”

James’ face falls. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine. You couldn’t have known. And besides, I _did_ want to talk to you.” One eyebrow quirks as he looks James over.

“So, why didn’t you?”

“Never been that good at making the first move.”

“Instead, you make _me_ do it?”

“I’d’ve done it eventually.”

“And if you never saw me again?”

“You’d be back here. You’re obviously a regular.”

“You’re observant, I’ll give you that.”

Steve grins. “Always have been.”

James grabs a napkin, writes his number on it, and slides it across the table to Steve.

“What’s this?”

“Powers of observation failing you?”

That gets another smile out of Steve.

James sits up a little straighter. “I have to get to work, but I was thinking we could go out for a drink?”

“Something other than orange juice?” Steve says, holding up his glass.

“I was thinking something more like beer, but orange juice works, too.”

“We could decide on a time for a few beers over orange juice tomorrow. On me?”

“Okay.” James stands, buttoning his jacket. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah.” The sad look returns to Steve’s eyes, but James doesn’t comment.

He waves as he turns the corner to leave.

As he walks outside the diner, he could swear he sees Steve holding the napkin in both hands like his life depends on it.


	3. Hozier. “From Eden.” Hozier. Colombia, 2014. MP3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Johnlock-Deductress and WhatEvenAmI for making this chapter a thing that happened and a thing that I was willing to post.

Click.

_Babe, there’s something tragic about you,_

_Something so magic about you,_

_Don’t you agree?_

_Babe, there’s something lonesome about you,_

_Something so wholesome about you,_

_Get closer to me._

\--

Steve is waiting for him when James gets to the diner the next morning. He’s leaning against the side of the building, his ankles crossed. His golden tresses seem dark brown in the shade of the building and, with his aviators, Henley, plaid overshirt, and well-worn jeans, he doesn’t look much like the man from before.

He’s engrossed in his phone as James approaches, but looks up when he steps onto the curb. When their eyes meet, Steve’s face makes James feel like Steve is a starving man and he’s a banquet.

“Wow,” James says, “Look at you, all dressed up. Trying to impress me, Barnes?”

Steve chuckles as they walk to the door. “I wasn’t sure if this qualified as a date, so I decided to play it safe.”

“You played well.”

James bites back a comment about his gentlemanly ways as Steve holds the door open for him, then  waves at Millie, who is standing at the register with a young woman he doesn’t recognize.

They sit in James’s usual booth at the back.

Steve takes off his sunglasses and grabs two of the menus from the small stack behind the condiments. He offers one to James.

“I already know what I want,” James says, resisting the urge to say that _Steve_ is what he wants.

Delilah comes over after a few minutes to take their order and grins smugly when she sees Steve across from James. “Morning, guys,” she chirps as she pulls her notebook from her apron. “How’re you doing today?”

James smirks at her. “Pretty good so far. How are you?”

“Good.” Delilah looks at Steve with a quirked eyebrow. “So, James didn’t scare you off?”

“I don’t think he could, ma’am,” Steve answers, with a beaming smile, “But then, I’ve never scared easily.”

“What would you like? The usual for you, James?”

“Yup.”

“And for you?” Delilah asks, turning to Steve.

James tries not to let his eyes fall out of his head from being opened so wide when Steve orders coffee, a stack of pancakes, bacon, sausage, hash browns, a bowl of fruit salad, and an omelette packed with steak, cheese, and vegetables.

Steve notices James’s stricken expression when Delilah leaves to fetch them a carafe of coffee and blushes. (James is distracted from his own shock by how cute Steve looks, especially considering how he could probably bench press the building.)

“What?”

“Are you actually a small nation?” When Steve doesn’t respond, James continues, “Because you ordered enough to feed one.”

“I have a big appetite,” Steve says, “and my metabolism is really fast.”

“And I guess when you’re built like a tank, you’ve got to power yourself somehow.”

“I guess.”

Steve thanks Delilah when she returns to pour coffee into their mugs.

James hands him three packets of sugar and two little cups of creamer, all of which Steve uses.

As he stirs his coffee, Steve misses Delilah standing behind him, wiggling her eyebrows at James.

James just rolls his eyes at her.

When they’re alone again, James regards Steve silently for a moment, then says, “So, tell me about yourself.”

Cradling his mug between his hands, Steve looks into it, as if it can give him the answer to James’s question.

“Well, I was born in Brooklyn. I’ve lived here most of my life, except when I was deployed.”

“You’re a vet?”

“Yeah.”

“Army?”

Steve nods.

“What do you do now?”

“I… work in security a—at Stark Industries.”

“Bullshit.”

Steve’s wide-eyed expression screams _would this face lie to you?_

James stares at him, incredulous. “You know Tony Stark?”

Steve laughs. “Not personally, but I’ve met him a few times.”

Leaning back, James shakes his head. “You _have_ to bring me there someday.”

“I’ll see what I can do. We’re on high alert right now.” He drinks some coffee. “What about you?”

“I’m a street artist—I sell paintings in Central Park.” James thinks he knows what’s coming, because everyone always asks him to draw them when he talks about his art.

Instead, Steve asks, “Do you have any pictures of your work?” his blues wide with interest.

The question is refreshing (being asked to draw something right then and there gets old after the first fifty times) so James pulls out his phone and goes to his image gallery. He selects one of his favorite pieces—a portrait of a young, blond man, turned away, holding silk in both hands like he was pulling a robe off his naked torso. He’s thin enough that his spine and ribs are visible beneath his skin, and long eyelashes are just visible with the way his head is turned.

He passes his phone to Steve. “I call this one _Strength_.”

Steve looks down at the picture and his mouth falls open. “This—” He takes a deep breath. “This is amazing. Who…who’s the model?”

“I didn’t use one. He just… happened, like my hand was the one in control instead of my brain. There are more, if you want to look.”

Steve swipes through the album, clearly moved by each of the portraits.

“Did you sell these?”

“No. I thought about it, but I couldn’t bear to let them go.”

“I’d love to see them in person,” Steve whispers, and it’s as if he doesn’t realize the words are leaving his lips.

James smiles at the comment and Steve’s apparent awe. He doesn’t mention that Steve is the first person to see any of those works since he painted them in a fit of inspiration three months ago, or that he’s had a strange fear of showing them to anyone until this moment.

When Steve finally manages to tear his eyes away from the images (after flipping through them at least three times), he gives the phone back to James. “It’s no wonder you can make a living on your paintings. You should put those in a gallery.”

“I don’t know if I’m that good, but it does put food on the table.”

Steve’s gaze moves past James to something distant. “I know how it is when there isn’t enough.”

“Your family had problems with money?”

“Yeah. Half the time, my mom didn’t know how she was gonna feed us. Sometimes, my friend would come by with stuff to help us, but I think he’d steal it sometimes, because his family wasn’t much better off.”

“Your friend? The one you told me about yesterday?”

“Yeah.”

James can tell Steve doesn’t want to talk about whatever had caused his friend’s death, but something inside him needs to know more. “What was he like?”

Smiling, Steve looks up, like his friend is looking down from heaven. “He was… great. He always kept me out of trouble. When I got sick, he’d spend time with me and take care of me. When my mom passed away, we moved into an apartment together, because I had trouble keeping a job and he knew I’d end up on the streets without help.” Steve chuckles a little. “And he was handsome. The most attractive man I’ve ever known. But I wasn’t that good looking, so he’d find girls for us both and drag me out on double dates all the time.”

“He didn’t know you were gay?”

“I’m not—” James raises an eyebrow and Steve blushes again. “I’m not. But I know I’m not straight either.” He takes a deep breath with a little shake of his head. “I grew up in a conservative area—you didn’t talk about people who lived outside the norm. I didn’t know it was _okay_ to be anything other than straight until a few years ago, and I’m _still_ trying to learn what I am.”

“You know, it isn’t black and white, and you don’t _have_ to be something specific. You can just be… you.”

Steve smiles. “I know. I just wish I’d been brave enough to tell my friend.”

“Were you in love with him?”

Biting his lip, Steve looks down at his hands. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

“It’s not that I’m jealous,” James explains, “it just seems like _you_ need to know that about yourself. It’ll help you move on.”

“I’m not sure if I want to move on. I know I have to, but I can’t just let go of him—and what he meant to me. Even if I wasn’t _in love_ with him, I still _loved_ him. He was my best friend… _You_ —” He suddenly goes quiet.

Steve is clearly holding back tears, so James reaches across the table to hold his hand. The blond looks up at him at the contact, and the tears break free from his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers.

“It’s fine. Let it out.”

“No, I’m sorry that—” He takes a deep breath, holds it for a second, and lets it out. “We’re supposed to be on a… a date and I’m talking about someone else who—who’s gone.”

“Look,” James rubs his thumb over Steve’s knuckles, “I want to get to know you. I know we’ve only just met, but I already feel like we’re friends, like I _do_ know you. I don’t want to take your friend’s place in your life, but I feel like I could share your heart with him. And if it means you tell me everything about him and all the things that make you hurt so that I can help you heal even a little bit, that’s okay with me.” He reaches across the table and wipes away Steve’s tears. “I’m sure your friend wouldn’t want you keeping all of this bottled up.”

That makes Steve smile, even if his eyes are still wet. “He used to yell at me for never talking about my feelings. He always said I’d get into fights so I wouldn’t have to—or that I liked getting beat up.”

“I can’t really imagine you getting beat in a fight.”

“I wasn’t very healthy as a kid. I was shorter than most girls until I had one last growth spurt. It was like I grew a foot in a day.”

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Steve sighs and rubs the back of his hand on his eyes. “You have no idea.”

James wants to ask what he means by that, but is interrupted by Delilah returning, a tray balanced on each hand. The girl that James saw with Millie when they got to the diner is trailing behind her with a third tray and two stands to rest them on.

Delilah sets out three plates for James and five for Steve (with a teasing question of where he plans on putting _all that food_ ), then turns to the young woman at her side. “By the way, this is Evelyn. Today’s her first day.”

Evelyn waves and tucks a curl behind her left ear. “Hi.”

Delilah grins. “Evelyn, this is James. He comes in every day, so you’ll get to know him pretty quick. And this is…” She gestures to Steve a little helplessly.

“Steve,” he says.

“You two think this is enough food?” Delilah asks, stacking the trays together.

“I hope so,” Steve says with a smile.

“Well, let us know if you need anything,” she replies.

Steve spreads the butter around on his pancakes, pours on some old-fashioned syrup, then hands the bottle to James.

“How did you know?” James asks as he drizzles some onto his own pancakes. “You haven’t been stalking me, have you?”

“I… I saw you use it yesterday,” Steve replies sheepishly.

“But did you see me use it before yesterday?”

 “You caught me because I couldn’t stop staring at you. You really think I could stalk you without being noticed?”

“Got a point there, Barnes.”

They eat in silence for a few minutes, their silverware clinking softly against their plates.

“So,” Steve says after a while, “tell me about yourself.”

James washes down his bite of bacon with a sip of coffee. “There’s not really anything to tell.”

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t really done anything. Especially compared to you.”

“What about your family?”

“It’s just me.”

Steve puts down his fork. “That must be hard.”

James shrugs. “It’s not that bad.”

“Well,” Steve says, a little bit of that blissful look returning to his face, “you’ve got me now, so you won’t be alone.”

“You’re a sap.”

“So?” The response is challenging, as if Steve has been called that before, but, like James, whoever said it did so with more than a little adoration in their voice.

James rolls his eyes.

They spend most of the remaining time eating in companionable silence, until Steve is nearly done with his food and James has long since finished his own (and has stopped trying not to wonder where the _hell_ Steve’s putting it all.)

“Where do you want to go on our first date?” James asks as Steve finishes his coffee.

“I thought _this_ was our first date.”

“This was us getting together so we could decide on something to do on our first date.”

“Then I got dressed up for nothing?”

Making a face, James retorts, “If you wear pajamas on a date, I’m turning around and not stopping.”

“Pajamas? I was planning on showing up in a robe and slippers with curlers in my hair.”

Both of them laugh at the comment, and James realizes that Steve really does feel like a kindred spirit; like an old friend.

“So, what would you like to do?” James asks.

“Coffee?”

Quirking an eyebrow, James lifts his mug. “Isn’t that what we just did?”

Steve crosses his arms in mock irritation. “Got a better idea?”

James pulls out his phone and does a quick web search. After a minute, he slides it across the table to Steve. “There’s a dance festival this weekend. How about that?”

He scrolls through the page James left open and smiles. “That sounds like it could be fun.”

“Certainly better than coffee.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Punk.”

“So, when’s the wedding?”

James absolutely does _not_ jump because he absolutely _did_ know Delilah and Evelyn were standing there listening to him and Steve talking. And he certainly does _not_ _squeak_ , either.

“It isn’t polite to listen in on others’ conversations,” he says, glaring at them.

“I wasn’t listening in,” she reaches into her apron and pulls out a slip of paper, “I was bringing your check.”

Steve snatches it from Delilah before James can.

“We can split the bill, if you want.” He offers, reaching across the table, but Steve holds it away from him.

“I said I’d pay and I plan to keep my word. Besides, I’m not making you pay for all the food I got. You can do the tip, if you’d like.”

“I’m not sure if she _deserves_ a tip today.”

“You’re lucky I know you’re joking, or I’d add some special flavoring to your breakfast tomorrow.”

“I was going to tip you anyway,” Steve stage whispers to her.

“Then why did you tell me to leave the tip?” James demands.

“Did you not notice that we have two servers?” he pulls three twenty dollar bills from his wallet. “Keep the change.”

Delilah takes the cash from Steve. “Admittedly, James always tips at least twice what most people do.”

Shrugging, James gets out an additional fourteen dollars and gives it to Evelyn. “Even if this is a good business, I know how little this job probably pays,” he says as the women walk away. “Everyone deserves enough to live.”

Steve is smiling, but frowns when a buzz sounds from his side of the booth. The buzzing stops when he pulls out his phone.

James watches his whole demeanor change: he sits up straighter, his shoulders seem to broaden (James wonders how Steve can even _get_ any bigger), and his eyes gain an intensity that James can almost feel.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

Steve drags a hand through his hair. “Duty calls.”

“Is it an emergency?”

“No,” the blond types out a response and sighs, “but there are some things I have to be present for, and one of those things just came up. I’m sorry I have to cut this short.”

“It’s not like we were still eating,” James responds. “And we’ve already made plans.”

“So you won’t mind me leaving now?”

“Not at all.”

Steve stands up and James follows suit, pulling on his jacket and scarf.

When they get outside, Steve pauses.

“I’m not… I don’t have a lot of experience with this part.”

“Which part?”

“The end-of-the-date part. I… don’t usually get this far.”

“Who the hell have you been dating, Barnes?” James asks.

“I’m not that much of a catch.”

James grabs the collar of Steve’s shirt and yanks him down a couple inches so he can press their mouths together. Steve’s hands come up in shock, but he doesn’t touch James or pull away, just holds them up like he’s afraid to make contact.

The kiss is chaste and James ends it long before he wants to, but feels oddly _right_ to him, as if his whole life has been leading him to this moment.

He smirks as Steve straightens back up.

“Watch your mouth,” James says, “that’s my potential boyfriend you’re talking about.”

Steve’s definitely watching _James’s_ mouth now, his cheeks going red again.

In the light of day James can see that the blush travels down his neck and under the collar of his shirt, too. He makes a note to find out just how far down that blush actually goes.

“I, uh, I’ll see you this weekend,” Steve replies. “What time do you want to meet up?”

“Eleven work for you?”

“Sure.” Steve shifts forward, stops, visibly steels himself, and kisses James on the cheek. “I’ll see you then,” he says, his voice dropping an octave and causing electricity to shoot down James’s spine.

James watches Steve walk away from the diner and across the street. As he reaches the other side, James feels his phone buzz in his pocket.

He unlocks it with the swipe of a finger and is greeted by a text message.

_Have a nice week!_

_-Steve_

Looking up, James can see Steve staring from his side of the road. They share one last glance and Steve disappears into the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I estimated that the cost of the meal would've been about $45.58 before tax, and they paid $74, which is a 62% tip.


	4. AWOLNATION. “Sail.” Megalithic Symphony. Red Bull Records, 2011. MP3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that I didn't post last week. I was pretty sick, but I'm (almost) better now. I'll try to give you all a Valentine's Day gift to make up for it. <3
> 
> This chapter has some texting that is poorly typed. I've been told by my betas that it's understandable, but I've put in translations in the end notes in case anyone can't decipher it. 
> 
> As always, a big thanks to johnlock-deductress and WhatEvenAmI for all their help!

“God, Steve. Did someone give you lessons in terrible dancing?”

“Shut up. You know I’ve never been good at this.”

“Knowing isn’t the same as suffering the consequences,” James groans as he rubs his foot.

Steve practically throws himself to the floor next to James’s feet.

“Giving up?”

“Don’t your feet hurt?” Steve snaps, but James can see that he’s frustrated, so he stands back up and thinks for a minute, pacing in order to get some blood flow back to his squashed foot.

“Okay, I think I know how to make this work.”

Steve looks up at him hopelessly.

“I know it’ll sound crazy, but… just bear with me, okay?”

Nodding, Steve gets onto his feet.

James takes Steve’s hands. “Dancing… Dancing is like making love.”

Steve blushes. “Bu—”

He’s silenced by a gentle press of James’s fingers to his lips. “Just pretend. That you’re in love with… That you’re dancing with someone you’re in love with.”

The blush deepens.

James places one of Steve’s hand in the small of his back. One of his own hands goes to Steve’s shoulder while their other hands stay clasped together.

He steps backwards and Steve follows, staring at their feet.

“Don’t look down. Just follow me.”

“O—okay.”

James can feel Steve’s heart racing against his chest, but they move together almost seamlessly.

“Relax.”

“That’s not as easy as you—”

“Close your eyes.”

“I—”

“ _Close your eyes_.”

For once, Steve obeys.

“And keep them closed.” When there isn’t an argument, James continues. “Now, just forget that it’s me.”

They dance a little longer, but Steve’s feet still don’t land in quite the right places. He steps on James twice and tries to pull away.

James doesn’t let him. Instead, he presses their foreheads together.

They’re close enough to kiss now. Close enough to taste each other’s breath.

Steve’s eyes are still closed, but he’s moving perfectly with James.

“Can I open my eyes now?” he whispers.

“Yeah.”

Steve opens them slowly, as if he’s afraid of what he’ll see. He smiles a little when their eyes meet. “So this is what sex feels like?”

“Not ‘ _sex_ ’, lovemaking.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Bite your tongue, Steven. Of course there is.”

“As if I’d know that.”

“So… you haven’t—”

“No.”

“Not even—”

“ _No_.” Steve’s getting defensive. Someone must’ve been giving him grief about being a virgin.

“That’s okay,” James says. “You wait until you’re ready or you might regret it.”

He takes a breath; he’s going to be treading on thin ice.

“I… I regret not waiting, sometimes.” He looks into Steve’s eyes. “I could’ve had the right partner, but I lost my chance.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “You don’t mean—”

The floor gives way beneath them.

He should’ve hit the ground by now.

They were only on the second floor, why isn’t James hitting the ground?

Why is he still falling?

Click.

_—Made it in my mind because_

_Blame it on my ADD, baby_

James opens his eyes, his heart racing. That happens sometimes, when he’s awoken during a dream.

_This is how an angel dies_

_Blame it on my own sick pride_

_Blame it on my ADD, baby_

Of course, there’s nothing worse than dreams about falling.

_Sail, sail_

And it had started out so nicely.

_Sail, sail, sail_

James rolls onto his back and hisses. It would be nice to wake up without feeling like his back had been tied in a knot.

_Maybe I should cry for help_

_Maybe I should kill myself (myself)_

_Blame it on my ADD baby_

With several pops that make him feel like he’s a hell of a lot older than he really is, James sits up.

_Maybe I’m a different breed_

_Maybe I’m not listening_

_So blame it on my—_

James turns off his alarm clock and gets up to shower.

Exhausted despite getting more than enough sleep, James is so tired that he puts soap in his hair and nearly shampoos his face.

No amount of glaring at his handful of shampoo makes it fear him enough to spontaneously lather itself, spread itself through his hair, and rinse itself out.

The rest of his morning rituals go in more or less the same direction: his comb keeps slipping out of his hands, he doesn’t feel like wearing any of his clothes, and he get halfway to the diner before he realizes he forgot Delilah’s book in his apartment.

He won’t even have Steve to talk to over breakfast.

A strange sense of disappointment washes over him when he thinks that. After yesterday, it seems wrong to eat alone, even if he chats with everyone who works at the diner.

He’s halfway through his breakfast when his phone chirps an alert in his pocket. When he unlocks it, it shows a text from Steve.

_Good morning! How’s breakfast?_

James smiles at the message: Steve had made it clear that he was uncomfortable with making the first move, but here he is, texting James first.

  _Quiet._ , James types. _Are you at work?_

He finishes off his eggs while he waits for Steve’s response.

_Yeah, but I’d much rather be there with you. I really enjoyed yesterday. Can’t wait for this weekend._

_Me neither. How’s work?_

_Busy. I never thought I’d find a more exciting job than being in the Army._

_Exciting can be good sometimes._

_Yeah, but, for me, it tends to be long stretches of dull interspersed with the occasional excitement. I wouldn’t mi_

James waits for the rest of the message, but five minutes pass without anything.

He tries not to think about it, but his mind keeps going back to Steve and whatever could have happened to him.

Before long, Marilyn is there to bus his dishes.

“Everything okay, James?” she asks as she unties and braids her long, black hair.

James checks his phone for what must be the hundredth time and shakes his head in an attempt to clear it. “I’m fine. Just… concerned.”

“Anything to do with that guy you had breakfast with yesterday?”

“Maybe.”

Marilyn gives him an unimpressed look. “You can try and keep secrets from me, but we both know Delilah will get it out of you tomorrow.”

Sighing, James shows her the last message from Steve. “He sent me this, and he hasn’t said anything since.”

She reads the text. “Is that something to worry about?”

“He works in security at Stark Industries.”

“And you think something’s happened to him?”

He nods.

“I’m sure he’s okay. From what Delilah told me, he sounds like he can take care of himself.”

James rolls his eyes. “I’m surprised Delilah didn’t take pictures.”

“Oh, she did,” Marilyn laughs, “I just thought it was more tactful not to mention that.”

James checks his phone again, and Marilyn gives him a pitying look.

“Let me know if you need anything, okay?” she says and leaves when he nods.

James gives up on waiting for Steve to text and gets up to pay.

Evelyn is at the register. “Hi, James.”

“Hey.” He takes his receipt in silence.

“Everything okay?”

Shrugging, James gives her a polite smile. “I just have some things on my mind. Let everyone know I said ‘hi’, okay?”

Evelyn nods, clearly worried, but James leaves before she can ask him anything else.

James spends the rest of the day in the same irritated daze that he felt during the morning. He sells three of his older works (two landscapes and a sketch of the New York skyline) and a good number of on-the-spot drawings of tourists, but even his unusually large takings can’t get his mind off of Steve.

He’s making dinner when Steve finally texts him again.

James’s phone buzzes and he (almost literally) drops everything to check the message.

_I’ms o sorry that i didnt’ txet yuo bakcv. Ive bee ngoing nonsdtop sunce this mronign,_

After he deciphers Steve’s words, James wipes the garlic that _had been_ on his hands off his phone with a towel and responds, _What happened?_ And then, because Steve doesn’t seem like the kind of person to type _that_ badly, _Are you okay?_

_Htere wasa  minorr meregency. Mnothign to worry aboiut/ sorry about my rtypinh. Im’ just tire.D_

A real smile brightens James’s features for the first time since that morning.

_Then why don’t you get some rest? If your typing is this bad, I worry for the safety of anything within a ten-foot radius of you._

_Haha bvery funy._

_Go to sleep, Steve._

James scrapes the garlic off of his cutting board and into a pan to heat. Once it becomes fragrant, he slices a chicken breast and adds it, vinegar, soy sauce, a bay leaf and peppercorns to the pan. He’s in the middle of turning the slices of chicken when his phone buzzes.

He expects it to be another text, but it’s a call. James isn’t surprised to see that it’s Steve.

James answers the call and cradles his phone between his ear and shoulder. “I thought I told you to go to sleep.”

“ _I’m lying down, but I can’t sleep._ ”

James wonders if the word ‘whine’ can be applied to a grown man who is approximately the size of a grizzly bear. “I don’t know if ten minutes is enough to find out.”

“ _Believe me, I’m sore enough that sleep is out of the question._ ”

“I thought you said it was a _minor_ emergency.”

“ _It_ was. _You try rating security risks while hunched over a desk all day_.”

“At least you didn’t have to neutralize security threats. That’d probably make you a little more sore.”

“ _Yeah_.” Steve yawns into the phone. “ _So, what are you doing_?”

“If you think I’m going to have phone sex with you, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“ _I wasn’t trying to have phone sex!_ ”

“Don’t lie to me, Steven.”

“ _I wasn’t_.”

“Of course you—” James looks out the window. “What is that? It looks like the sun rising! It’s so bright!” He gasps dramatically. “Oh, it’s not the sun rising! It’s the glow from you blushing!”

James can’t help feeling smug when Steve flounders for a response; he decides to take pity on him. “Anyway, I’m in the middle of cooking, which isn’t the sexiest pastime, if you ask me.”

“ _You like to cook?_ ”

“I guess. I’m not sure if I’d call it a _hobby_ , but I can follow a recipe.”

“ _I think I could burn water if I put my mind to it_ ,” Steve muses.

“It’s very comforting to know you’re working for the world’s largest security organization.”

“ _My ability to cook has nothing to do with my skills as an employee of Stark Industries._ ”

James turns off his stove and scoops the chicken out of the pan and onto a plate of rice. “I could teach you,” he says as he grabs a fork and sits down to eat.

“ _What happened to cooking being an unsexy pastime?_ ”

“You know, when I met you, I didn’t think your mind would be so far in the gutter.”

“ _People tend to think that about me. They’re always shocked to find out I’m not some American dream made of apple pies and patriotism._ ”

James laughs. “Well, you are pretty dreamy, and I can confirm how good you taste.”

“ _You know, I’ve seen better jokes on bumper stickers._ ”

“I assumed you of all people would know a joke when you saw one.”

“ _Fuck you._ ”

“Not before the first date.”

“ _Someone was willing to go on two dates with you?_ ”

“Says the guy who couldn’t even work up the nerve to ask me out.” James takes a bite of his food.

“ _I would’ve done it eventually._ ”

“Would it be _before_ we were in our nineties?” He asks, his mouth full.

Steve laughs at that. “ _Probably not._ ”

James tries to say something about leaving the dating expertise to him, but it’s muffled because his mouth is full.

“ _I’m not responding to that until you stop talking with food in your mouth_ ,” Steve says.

Swallowing, James is the one to whine now. “I can’t help it! This tastes so good.”

“ _What is it?_ ”

“Adobo.”

“ _Uh. Like the stuff houses are made of in the Southwest?_ ”

“That’s _adobe_ , you ass.”

“ _So what’s, uh… adobo?_ ”

“It’s Filipino food. One of the women at the diner gave me the recipe.”

“ _They really like you at that diner, don’t they?_ ”

“I guess.”

“ _How did you find that diner, anyway?_ ”

“I saw it on my way to work one day and decided to give it a try. They treated me like I’d been going there for months, even though they’d never seen me before. I couldn’t stay away after that.”

“ _They… seem like great people._ ”

“They are.”

Steve yawns again.

“Why don’t you go to sleep, Steve?”

“ _I wanna talk to you._ ”

“We can talk later.”

“ _Wanna talk now._ ”

“You’re practically asleep already. You want me talking to myself, Barnes?”

“ _I won’t fall asleep. I just… Can we talk a little longer? Please?_ ”

“Why do I put up with you?” James sighs. “Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve's texts:  
> -I’m so sorry that I didn’t text you back. I’ve been going nonstop since this morning.  
> -There was a minor emergency, nothing to worry about. Sorry about my typing, I’m just really tired.  
> -Haha very funny.
> 
> I hope Steve's texting errors were more or less accurate. I do not now nor have I ever had a smart phone, so I was pretty much guessing. 
> 
> As you may be able to guess. I'm Filipino, so there's going to be a bit of Filipino-American culture in this because reasons. I have figured out the names of the entire diner staff and, of the 19 people who work there, nine of them are Filipino... also because reasons.
> 
> Finally, anyone who knows what anime I referenced in the dancing scene gets a free interwebs.


	5. Sara Bareilles. “Love Song.” Little Voice. Epic Records, 2007. MP3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Valentine's Day special! ...Which is really more just an extra chapter posted on Valentine's Day. 
> 
> Extra large hearts to Johnlock-Deductress and WhatEvenAmI for all their help!

Click.

_“—Can totally understand how she felt when she was writing it.”_

_“I don’t think it’s fair that they’d get to make those kinds of choices.”_

_“Yeah. And if someone made me write something I hated, I’d probably do the same thing.”_

_“This is Sara Bareilles’s_ Love Song _and it goes out a special someone. You know who you are.”_

_Head under water and you tell me_

_To breathe easy for awhile_

_The breathing gets harder, even I know that_

James groans and buries his head under his pillow. He and Steve stayed up until after midnight talking and he couldn’t fall asleep afterwards. The last time he checked his clock, it was 4:10.

_Made room for me, but it's too soon to see_

_If I'm happy in your hands_

_I'm unusually hard to hold on to_

_Blank stares at blank pages_

_No easy way to say this_

_You mean well_

_But you make this hard on me_

James hears his phone vibrating on his nightstand and moans something that early humans would likely have understood as “no.”

_I'm not gonna write you a love song_

_'Cause you ask for it_

_'Cause you need one, you see_

_I'm not gonna write you a love song_

_'Cause you tell me it's make or break in this_

_If you're on your way_

_I'm not gonna write you to stay_

_All you have is leaving_

_I'mma need a better reason_

_To write you a love song today, today... yeah..._

_I learned the hard way that they all say_

His phone vibrates again. And again.

_Things you wanna hear_

_My heavy heart sinks deep down under_

He reaches towards his nightstand and flops his hand around until it lands on his phone.

_You and your twisted words_

Three messages. From Steve.

_Your help just hurts_

_You are not what I thought—_

James turns off his radio and glares at his phone. Why the fuck is the screen so _bright_? He reads the first message.

_Good morning!_

Fuck. No. Steve did _not_ text him just to say good morning.

_Thanks for letting me talk last night, it really helped me sleep._

It’s wonderful that _Steve_ slept well.

_I hope I didn’t wake you up._

How hard would he have to punch his phone for his fist to transcend time and space and hit Steve?

It’s too much effort to even contemplate, so James texts Steve back ( _sleeping in talk later_ ) an allows himself to fall back asleep.

\--

The sun has moved considerably when James wakes up again, but he’s still exhausted.

He glances at the time on his clock.

10:34, it displays with a malevolence he’s never seen in a timepiece before.

James can’t justify staying in bed any longer, so he gets up.

Sleeping in doesn’t make his day any better. After a shower that’s never quite warm enough, James pulls on the first clothing items he finds, scrapes a comb through his hair until it resembles something that could be mistaken for styled, grabs Delilah’s book, and leaves for the diner.

James sits in his usual booth and it’s all he can do to sit up and not fall asleep across the table. If his eyes fall closed and he’s only half-awake when Delilah walks up, well, he’s doing his best.

He opens his eyes and stares at her for a moment.

Delilah stares back, then seems to shake herself out of her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Delilah. Couldn’t sleep last night.”

Her shoulders relax. “Okay. I was worried when you didn’t come in earlier.”

“Sorry. Steve kept me up last night.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“Not like _that_.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Get that smirk off your face. He was tired after work and couldn’t sleep, so he called me and then I couldn’t fall asleep.”

Delilah’s still grinning. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

James lets his head fall onto the table with a thunk.

“Okay, okay,” Delilah says, holding her hands up in defeat. “Your usual again today?”

“Yes,” he groans, his head still resting on the table.

James doesn’t hear Delilah leave, but he hears (and _smells_ ) her return and pour coffee into a mug.

“You are amazing and beautiful and will you marry me?”

“I appreciate the compliment,” Adam responds, “but sorry. You really just don’t do anything for me.”

“Oh, yeah.” James rolls his head so he can fix one eye on Adam. “I forgot, I’m not Delilah.”

Adam glares at him.

Coffee is more likely to wake James up than not falling asleep in a busy diner, so he sits up. “You still haven’t told her?”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Maybe she feels the same way,” James says as he stirs sugar into his coffee.

“Then we’re both idiots.”

“I’ve been there. It could just not be the right time yet.”

“True.” There’s a _ding!_ from the kitchen and Adam looks up. “Duty calls.”

James pulls out _Sabriel_ after Adam’s gone into the kitchen.

He’s read about half a chapter when Delilah brings his food.

“Feeling better?”

“Well, I’ve had coffee now, so yes.”

“Good. I was starting to worry for Steve’s safety if he ever showed his face here again.”

“I’m more irritated that I couldn’t sleep than anything else.”

Delilah nods at the book in James’s hand. “How far along are you?”

James looks down. “Uh, Thralk?”

“How do you like it?”

“I hope it doesn’t take her the entire book to get to Abhorsen’s house.”

“I guess you’ll have to read it to find out.”

Glaring, James says, “You are the absolute worst.”

She smiles and walks away.

\--

James sets up his paintings on their stand, which he made out of PVC piping and some cheap bed sheets.

A young woman comes by a little after four.

“Wow, these are really good!” she says as she examines one of James’s larger works.

It’s a night scene of a solitary tree under a moonless sky while a storm rages in the distance. He’d spent a few days on it, doing everything he could to make sure the sky was as accurate as possible.

But it had felt incomplete, so he added a few lights to the tree itself.

The painting has been sitting on display for almost a month, and James was beginning to worry that no one would buy it.

“Thanks. I’m glad you like it.”

The woman looks at James’s prices and bites her lips.

“Do you take cards?”

“Just cash, sorry.”

She looks at the painting longingly. “Do you think you could hold it for me while I get some?”

“Of course. I’ll be here for another hour and a half, but if you can’t get back today, I’ll be here tomorrow, too.”

“Okay!”

She returns in under half an hour, just as James is finishing a sketch of a woman in her forties.

“I got extra money. I’d like a portrait as well.”

James stands up from his folding chair and gestures for her to sit in it while he sets up his easel and stool.

“May I ask what your name is?” he says as he chooses a canvas.

“Jane.”

He writes her name on the back of the canvas and takes a seat.

Jane tucks her hair behind her ear, but it falls onto her shoulder anyway. “Um, is there anything specific you want me to do?”

“Turn a little more to the left,” James says. “Raise your chin a little. And smile. You don’t have to hold perfectly still, but try not to move around too much, okay?”

He starts by sketching out outlines of her features.

“So, do you live in New York?”

“I… don’t really live anywhere. I have an apartment in London, but I move around so much that I’m not there very much.”

“Do you travel for work?”

“Yeah. I’m a scientist—an astrophysicist.”

“What brought you here?”

“My boyfriend works here and I was coming to visit, but he had to leave for something yesterday.”

“Is the portrait for him?”

She blushes. “Yeah. He’s supposed to come back today and I thought it’d be a nice gift.”

“That’s very sweet of you.”

“Well, we don’t see each other much.”

“It shows how strongly you feel for each other that you can be apart so much and stay together.”

“’Absence makes the heart grow stronger’?”

“No. Just… Strong hearts can endure absence.”

He works quickly to capture the soft smile that brings out in her.

Once he’s done sketching, James gets out his watercolors and starts with painting her hair.

He’s made several skin tone pallets before, and he chooses a few that are close to Jane’s complexion.

She’s wearing an indigo sweater, but James paints it with hues of blue and violet. The background he paints the same red as her lips with some gold tinting, to suggest a sunset.

Before long, James is signing his name at the bottom corner and draws a small star with _Jane_ written in script beside it.

“Would you like to look at it before I put on the sealant?”

“Sure,” Jane says, standing up. She gasps when she sees the painting. “Wow.”

“I took a little artistic liberty with the colors.”

“My boyfriend’s going to love it.”

“We’ll wait a few minutes while the sealant dries. If you want it well protected, you might want to spray it again.” Smiling, James gets out his receipt book and writes out the sealant brand name. “Wait for each layer to dry thoroughly before adding another coat. The landscape is already varnished.”

Jane stares at the painting for a second, then turns to him. “I’m going to forget everything you just said,” she says with an embarrassed little laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m so excited about giving this to my boyfriend.”

“That’s okay. I’ve written it down.” James hands her the receipt.

“That’s probably a good idea. Give me data or equations and I won’t forget, but I can never remember directions.” Pulling out her wallet, Jane hands him some cash. “Keep the change.”

This time, it’s James who smiles. “Thank you very much.” He looks at the display of his paintings. “Will you be alright bringing these to wherever you’re staying? I can help you carry them if you’d like.”

Jane waves her hands a little. “No, it’s fine. I can call a car to pick me up. Do you think it’s dry enough?”

“Yeah.”

Jane picks up the portrait gingerly and smiles. “Thanks!”

She’s started to walk away when James calls out, “Wait! Don’t forgot the landscape!”

“Oh!” Running back, Jane picks it up a little less gently than she did the other painting. “You see what I mean about forgetting things?”

“That’s okay. You’re excited to see your boyfriend. Just be careful, okay?”

James watches her (mostly to make sure can’t get into any more trouble) until she’s out of sight, then starts to pack up his stand.

\--

James gets a text from Steve just before he starts getting ready to go to bed.

_Are you okay?_

_Yeah. Sorry I forgot to text you back earlier._

_That’s all right. I assumed you slept all day._

Scowling, James types back, _Well, I wouldn’t need to sleep all day if SOMEONE had let me sleep last night._

_You could’ve told me if you needed to go to bed._

_That would mean denying you. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to say no to those baby blues of yours._

_Then I’ll take pity on you and leave you alone now._

“Yeah, right,” James says to his phone as he lies down.

James is vindicated when, just as he’s started to drift off, he gets one more text from Steve.

_Good night, James._

He’s awake enough to reply _fuck off_ before falling back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, Jane Foster was in this chapter! I'm going to try to bring her back in at some point. I've never written her before, though, so I hope she wasn't too ooc. (I'd be lying if I said I don't ship ThunderFrost, but Loki... would make no sense in this fic, and I love Jane/Thor, too!)
> 
> Contrary to popular belief, Love Song [wasn't written in retaliation to the Record Company forcing Sara Bareilles to have a love song on her album](http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/sara-bareilles-story-behind-love-song_us_560fdd34e4b0768127023ecd), but I can't stand radio DJs and I think they're the kind of people who wouldn't fact check.


	6. Chapter 6: Young the Giant. “My Body.” Young the Giant. Roadrunner, 2010. MP3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm putting a trigger warning on this chapter. It may not be necessary, but I don't want to risk triggering anyone. An abusive relationship is mentioned, but the character doesn't go into details. If you think you may be triggered, I have cross posted this chapter [to tumblr](http://lourdesdeath.tumblr.com/post/139620454075) with more details regarding what happens and the same chapter with the potentially triggering content removed. 
> 
> If you do need to read the tumblr post, I made sure you don't lose any important information. Also, the abusive relationship won't be a major plot point in this fic (although it will come up in the B side.)

Chapter 6: Young the Giant. “My Body.” _Young the Giant._ Roadrunner, 2010. MP3.

 

James wakes up and looks at his clock. He’s got maybe thirty seconds before it goes—

Click.

_—Tells me no but I won't quit_

_'Cause I want more, 'cause I want more_

_My body tells me no but I won't quit_

_'Cause I want more, 'cause I want more_

_It rides out of town_

He gets up for his shower.

\--

James stops as he approaches the diner. There’s a familiar figure leaning against the building.

Steve grins when he sees James.

His hair is definitely a darker color this time. James can see that he hasn’t shaved in a few days: a short beard dusts his cheeks.

“You look different,” James says, running a hand down Steve’s face and watching his eyes dilate.

“I… wanted to try something new. Like it?”

James hooks a hand behind Steve’s neck and pulls him in to press their mouths together.

He expects to have to coax Steve into deepening the kiss, but he feels Steve’s tongue brush against his lips tentatively.

When James parts them, Steve licks into his mouth so gently that James feels a fine tremor run through him.

Their tongues touch and James isn’t sure if it’s one or both of them who gasps.

Steve pulls away and James can’t help whining a little.

He’s almost placated when Steve kisses him again; this time, it’s chaste and all too brief.

Steve is holding James’s chin, his thumb resting on the cleft, and James can feel that they’re _both_ shaking.

“I… I think we should go inside,” Steve whispers.

“I think I need a minute before I can move. I’m not sure if my knees still work.”

Steve puts a hand on James’s back and pulls him in, to lean against Steve’s strong form. “Better?”

“Yes, but if you plan on keeping this up any longer, I really won’t be able to walk.”

“That’s a tempting idea,” Steve replies with a deep huff of laughter.

Smiling, James shoves at the other man’s chest and steps back a little. “If you make it so I can’t walk, I’ll make you carry me.”

With a feigned disinterest, Steve shrugs, turns around and walks to the entrance of the diner, his nose high in the air. It takes James a second to quit gaping at Steve’s nerve, before he rushes up to follow.

They shove at each other’s shoulders as they walk to James’s booth. There’s a brief scuffle as they stand next to it and try to sit first, but James pokes Steve in the ribs and slides onto the bench while Steve yelps and half-jumps away.

“Do I have to separate you two?” Delilah says from where she’s standing behind the counter.

“No, mom,” they say in unison.

She comes over and gives James a long-suffering glare. “Jesus Christ. Am I going to have to put up with two of you now?”

“It’s not my fault!” James says, pointing at Steve. “He’s a bad influence.”

“That’s true. I am.” His solemn expression almost looks genuine.

Delilah shakes her head and pulls a notebook out of her trouser pocket. “Your usual, James?”

“Yeah.”

“And I’ll have the same.”

“Oh,” she says, “you’re not going to eat us out of house and home today?”

A blush colors Steve’s cheeks. “I, uh, already ate today.”

Delilah smiles and leaves to place their order.

“So,” James says, propping up his chin on one hand, “what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?”

“I have the morning off, and I wanted to see you.”

“Just couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m not always the most patient person.”

Evelyn comes by with a carafe and two cups balanced on plates, but just smiles at them instead of making conversation.

James adds sugar to his. “That’s surprising.”

“I try to hide it. I wouldn’t want to be an asshole.”

“True.”

“Oh, how has work been?” Steve asks, looking eager.

“Good. I had a really cute customer yesterday.”

“Should I be worried?”

Rolling his eyes, James gives Steve’s legs a kick under the table. “No. Besides, she has a boyfriend anyway.”

“So, what happened?”

“Nothing really. I sold her a landscape and a portrait. But she talked a little about her boyfriend. I hope he appreciated the painting of her.”

“Was it a gift?”

“Yeah.”

James takes a sip of coffee. “Hey, you wanted to see my paintings in person, right?”

Steve nods.

“You wanna come to my apartment and see them?”

“Um…”

“You don’t have to,” James adds quickly. “It’s cool if you have to get to work or something.”

Shaking his head, Steve smiles. “I don’t. I just… I guess that was a bit of a surprise.” He bites his lips, thinking. “I’d love to.”

“Great.”

Steve tops up his coffee.

“You can help me bring them to work, too.” James says, then waits for Steve to take a sip of his drink. “I’m sure I’ll get more customers than ever if you do some life modelling.”

He covers his mouth and tries not to laugh too hard while Steve chokes.

Steve manages to swallow and glares at James. “You are a jerk,” he says, his voice gravelly with his effort not to cough.

“Punk.”

He can tell Steve’s fighting the urge to smile.

The expression vanishes when Steve’s phone buzzes.

James can’t help worrying that Steve will be called into work again, but he just looks up.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, “my friend’s texting me.”

Shrugging to let Steve know he doesn’t mind, James picks up _Sabriel_ to give Steve some privacy.

 Eventually, James realizes that Steve’s attention is no longer on his phone.

“What are you reading?”

James slides the novel across the table. Steve glances at the cover, (opens it or turns it over) to read the summary. He watches in amusement as Steve turns to the prologue and starts reading.

Luckily, it isn’t long before Delilah returns with a tray covered in plates.

“Here you go, James,” she puts down half the plates, “and here is your second breakfast,” she says to Steve, her voice slipping into a fake Scottish accent.

She grins when she notices Steve reading her book.

James reaches over the food and plucks it from Steve’s fingers.

“Hey!”

“It’s rude to read during meals, Steven,” James says. “Besides, I haven’t finished it yet.”

Delilah lights up. “I have another book that’s really good, if you need something to read!”

“Okay.”

She tucks the tray under her arm and walks away, practically bouncing with excitement. .

“She likes suggesting books,” James says to Steve.

“I can see that,” he laughs.

She comes back with a small red book. “I know it looks short, but it has, like sixteen sequels. I can loan it to you tomorrow.”

Steve takes the book. It has a silver butterfly on the front and silver lettering on the spine.

“ _Alanna: the First Adventure_?”

“It’s about a girl who disguises herself as a boy so she can become a knight. It’s amazing.”

“ _Sixteen sequels_?” James asks, incredulous.

“It’s part of a series in a series. Each series is about a different girl in the same world.”

“That sounds good.”

“It is. I’ll bring my discard copy tomorrow. I’d loan you this one, but it’s a signed first edition.”

Steve hands the book back to Delilah reverently, earning himself a smile.

“Then I’ll be here tomorrow.”

\--

When they get up to leave, Steve insists on paying for his own meal (James won’t let him pay for both of them) and two tips are left for Delilah.

James hasn’t forgotten Steve’s behavior before they went into the diner, so he gets his revenge by grabbing Steve’s ass as they walk through the doors.

Steve yelps and turns around, his hand where James’s had been.

But James just walks past him, his nose in the air.

“Oh, you fucking—”

“Language, Steven!”

He can’t help laughing at Steve’s indignant squawk.

Steve catches up to James and shoves him. “I can’t believe you.”

“You deserved it,” James quips back

They make the short trek back to James’s building, bickering like children.

James takes the familiar route up the two flights of stairs instead of waiting for the broken-down elevators to decide to move.

When he unlocks his apartment door, James extends his arm with a flourish. Steve walks in first, which gives James a perfect opportunity to grab his butt again.

“Am I going to live the rest of my life with your hand on my ass?”

In lieu of an answer, James pulls him back by his belt loops and turns him around; Steve doesn’t need to be led any further—he slams James against the door and kisses him like he’s starving for it.

Never one to remain idle, James reaches around and squeezes Steve’s ass again, which has the added benefit of pressing their hips together.

 “Don’t act like you don’t like it,” James says. “Guess I’d better—oh.” Steve has moved from James’s mouth to his neck, where his open-mouthed kisses have turned into bites.

James feels his knees going weak again, feels himself begin to slide down the door. But Steve doesn’t let him get far—his hands are under James’s hips and he _growls_ as he lifts James back up.

Biting’s gotten them into this new and wonderful position, so James tries it out on Steve—who _doesn’t_ start falling over, who instead pulls James away from the support of the door. James is too busy sucking at a spot under Steve’s ear to care where they’re going.

Steve sits, and James realizes they’ve moved to his sofa. There are, however, more pressing matters, like the fact that he’s now straddling Steve’s hips and there’s no longer any chance of either of them falling.

He grinds down and is suddenly aware of how hard they both are.

James slips his hands under Steve’s shirt, finds his nipples, and pinches them roughly.

Steve’s mouth opens in a silent moan.

Leaning down, James rubs at Steve’s pecs. “I want you,” he whispers into Steve’s ear. “Want you so fuckin’ bad, Stevie.”

Steve’s eyes open and he stares into James’s.

“What’s the matter, Barnes?” James says, smirking. “You think I brought you here just to look at my art?”

He bends down and bites Steve’s collar bone.

“Stop.”

James doesn’t have a chance to react before Steve’s pushing at his chest. “Stop—please stop.”

Steve’s gentle shoving gets James off of him enough that Steve can get out from under James and stand up. His shirt’s rucked up from James’s attention to his chest, but he just presses his hands to his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s fine, Steve. We’re fine.” James gets off the sofa and reaches out towards Steve, but thinks better of it: Steve probably doesn’t want to be touched. “Are you okay?”

“I just—I’m not—I—” He takes a ragged breath and shakes his head. “I don’t want to—to have sex yet. I’m not—I just don’t think I’m ready for that right now.”

“That’s okay. We don’t have to.”

For a moment, there’s only the sound of Steve’s panting.

“I can leave,” he says.

“You can if you want to.” James’s voice sounds too loud. “I won’t be upset if you do, but you don’t have to.”

“I don’t want to… but…” his breath catches, and James feels a rush of anxiety, but no wheezing follows. “We were—I ruined—”

“You haven’t ruined anything. We’re fine.”

With shaking hands, Steve pulls his shirt down.

“Why don’t you sit down?”

Steve obeys, sitting as far from James as possible, with his arms wrapped around himself.

“I’m going to get you water. Is that okay?”

Once Steve has nodded, James makes his way into his kitchen. He considers getting Steve a glass, but decides instead to get him a bottle so Steve doesn’t have to worry about dropping it.

Steve looks up when James returns; his eyes are wide, but he looks marginally calmer.

“Thanks,” he says when James holds out the water. He opens it, takes a sip, and stares at it.

“Is it okay if I sit?” James asks.

“Yeah.” Steve picks at the label of his bottle until it tears a little. “I… There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not—I…” He squeezes the bottle until the plastic starts to make a cracking sound and shakes his head. He seems to deflate a little, then takes a breath. “My last relationship was… bad. It wasn’t even really a relationship—we slept together a—and at first, I would’ve been happy if it had been more, but he… He didn’t want that. I knew that when we started out, but I… He wanted something to _use_ more than someone to—more than an actual person.”

“Did he… hurt you?”

“No. I mean, he wouldn’t always stop when I told him to, but he never hit me or anything.”

It’s said so nonchalantly—as if that isn’t wrong. James feels sick.

“After I broke it off, I found out that he wasn’t who I—who I thought he was. That it was all… a lie.”

“I’m sorry.”

Steve still isn’t looking at James. Instead, he stares at his hands, his eyes wide.

“Please don’t apologize. Please.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

They fall silent, and Steve keeps tearing at the label of his bottle until the edges are scalloped and there are two long strips of paper hanging off in opposite directions.

James shifts and Steve finally looks over at him. “Do you still want to see the paintings?”

“Not—not yet? I…” he sighs and sends an apprehensive glance James’s way before scooting over to the center of the sofa.

“You don’t have to do anything you not comfortable with.”

“I—I’m okay. It was… We were just moving a little too fast before.” He reaches over to hold hands with James. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

Steve doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t protest. Instead, he leans over and rests his head on James’s shoulder. “Is this okay?” he asks.

James wraps his arms around Steve and pulls him closer. “This is perfect.”

\--

They sit together in silence for a while, James occasionally rubbing his thumb over Steve’s knuckles or kissing his hair.

Steve nuzzles James’s cheek just as James feels himself starting to drift off. “Can I see the paintings now?”

“Of course.”

James takes Steve’s hand and leads him to his bedroom.

There are a few stacks of paintings in one corner.

“These are the ones I’m trying to sell,” he says, pointing to some of them, “and those are the ones I want to keep. The ones I showed you before are there.”

Steve kneels down and starts with the ‘sell’ pile.

He looks through them, pausing occasionally to admire James’s work. His pauses are longer and more frequent when he goes through the ‘keep’ paintings.

“These are amazing,” he says as he leans them back up against the wall.

“Thanks.”

“I still think your work should be in a gallery. You could probably sell them for more that way.”

“Maybe,” James says, “But I like what I do now. It doesn’t make me that much money, but I’m happy.”

“And that’s the most important thing, isn’t it?” Steve says as he gets to his feet.

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously. Fuck this chapter. You know what my outline summary for this chapter was? "James goes to breakfast. Steve makes a surprise appearance!" Where the hell did that backstory come from!?


	7. Martin Solveig & Dragonette. “Hello.” Hello. Mercury, 2010. MP3.

Click.

_—I’m here, darling, to enjoy the party_

_Don’t get too excited ‘cause that’s all you’ll get from me, hey_

_Yeah, I think you’re cute but really you should know_

_I just came to say—_

James slams his hand onto his radio hard enough that he momentarily worries that he cracked the housing.

Fuck. That fucking song’s going to be stuck in his head for a week.

He gets into the shower and feels his foot starting to tap out the rhythm to the song from the radio.

“Damnit.”

\--

James gets a text from Steve while he’s walking to the diner (and definitely _not_ humming that damn song.)

_I’ll be a little late._

_Want me to order for you?_ He replies.

_Sure. Same as yesterday._

As James slides into his booth, Delilah comes over with a book.

“Oh, is the bae not coming?”

“The what?”

“You’ve seriously never heard ‘bae’ before? Do you live under a rock?”

James rolls his eyes and takes the book from her. It’s not as pretty as the hardback she had before.

“Steve’s going to be late.”

“Well, I’ll give Adam your order anyway.”

 “Thanks,” James says as he opens up the book and starts reading.

\--

He hears Evelyn and Marilyn greeting Steve and Steve responding, but doesn’t look up from the book until Steve is almost at the booth.

“Took you long en—”

James stares at Steve’s outfit.

“What the shit?”

Steve looks… different.

His black skinny jeans end more than an inch above his ankles and he’s wearing _suspenders_ and a scarf that’s so torn it looks like it came from a dumpster.

Steve blushes and sticks his hands in his pockets. “I told my friend I was going on a date and she wouldn’t let me leave the house the way I was dressed.”

“I like the way you dress.”

“I told her that, but she didn’t believe me! She said I dress like an old man.” He slumps into the booth.

“She couldn’t even get pants that fit you?”

“She said this is the style,” Steve grouses as he tears off the scarf.

James shakes his head and smirks when he sees Steve’s shirt. It’s _very_ low cut and _very_ sheer.

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” Steve says.

“I’m going to have to thank your friend,” James replies, not moving his gaze.

Steve groans and buries his face in his hands.

“C’mon, Steve. It’s really not that bad.”

He looks up just so he can glare at James. “You could at least _try_ to say that with a straight face.”

“And make you think I’m telling the truth?”

Delilah grins when she brings their food.

“How do you like the book?” she asks as she slides plate after plate onto the table.

“I haven’t actually had a chance to read it,” Steve replies, glancing pointedly at where the novel is resting next to James.

James sticks his tongue out at the blond. “It's not my fault you were late. Besides, you tried to steal _Sabriel_ yesterday.”

“By the way,” she says to Steve, “why are you dressed like a hipster?” 

“Because I’m being punished.”

“I don’t even want to know what you did to deserve it,” she says over James’s cackling.

\--

Steve's halfway through his meal when he looks up suddenly. “Wait. If we’re going to the festival today, I can’t bring Delilah’s book with me.”

“We could drop it off at my place,” James replies, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Would that be okay?”

“Would I have offered if it wasn’t?”

James watches Steve look down at his plate, his brow furrowed.

“I… I promise I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh—that wasn’t—I’m not—” Steve takes a breath, his eyes closed. “I don’t doubt that for a second,” he says earnestly when he opens his them again.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. Really,” he insists when James raises a skeptical brow.

\--

James unlocks his apartment door and lets Steve walk in first.

The skinny jeans look even better from the back, but James keeps his promise and _doesn’t_ grab Steve’s ass.

“Do you want some water before we leave?” he asks instead.

“That’s probably a good idea.”

“You know,” James says as he goes to the kitchen, “I think I have a jacket that might fit you.” He pulls out two glasses and fills them from the tap. “If you want to cover up.”

Steve narrows his eyes at him and takes his glass. “I thought you liked the view.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to have to share it.”

James walks away from Steve’s irritated sputtering and goes to his bedroom.

He opens the door of his closet. The jacket is in the back, behind his dress shirts and the lone suit he owns. When he pulls his clothes forward, he hears something fall.

Looking down, he sees the stack of paintings he keeps under his jackets.

James bends down to right them without really looking at them.

He pulls down the jacket and returns to the living room.

“I think this’ll fit you,” he says, holding it out.

Steve stares at him for a moment. “Thanks,” he replies eventually, and puts down the glass.

James slips the jacket over Steve’s broad shoulders and smooths his hands over the soft leather.

“How does it feel?”

“Fine.”

“Looks great, too,” he whispers, moving his hands down to wrap them around Steve. He rests his forehead on the Steve’s shoulder and breathes in the scent of him.

They stand like that for a moment, until Steve says quietly, “We should go.”

“Mm.” James kisses under Steve’s ear and lets him go. “Need anything else?”

“Nah.”

“Then let’s go.”

\--

Going to the festival hand-in-hand gives James an almost sinfully good feeling.

“I like this.”

Steve looks over at him. “Like what?”

“Being with you.”

A blush dusts Steve’s cheeks.

\--

Steve agrees to let James pay for their tickets as long as he buys anything they want inside.

They walk through the gates and Steve freezes.

Following his gaze, James sees a stage with a line of people dancing. The women all have long, curly hair and brightly colored dresses while the men are in matching vests. He glances at Steve and laughs when he sees that Steve is practically bouncing with excitement.

“You wanna go check that out?”

“Can we?”

“When have I ever said no to you?”

He feels himself being dragged over and doesn’t even think to fight.

“I haven’t seen step dancing since—”

The crowd cheers, drowning out whatever Steve says.

“Thank you so much!” One of the women says into a microphone on the stage as the other women bow.

Another comes up and sighs into her own mic. “You know, Kelly, I’ve been talking to the others and, well, we just don’t want to do all the work up here.”

Everyone else on the stage pouts and shakes their head theatrically while the crowd laughs and applauds.

“Well, Erin, if no one comes up here, I’m afraid it’ll be the end of our performance.” She frowns. “I don’t see anyone coming up here. I guess we have no choice but to _make_ some of you dance!”

The other dancers rush into the crowd and start to drag members of the audience to the stage.

A dancer walks over to them and sizes both of them up.

James looks over at Steve, who nods. They hold their hands out and are pulled onto the stage by the dancer.

\--

“How the fuck did you do that?” James demands as they walk down the steps of the stage.

The women went through several basic dance steps before teaching them a simple choreography. Everyone stumbled their way through the steps (James very nearly tripped off the stage when they were learning sevens) and did an equally bad job with the choreography.

Everyone, that is, except Steve, who danced nearly as well as the women teaching them. In the end, they called him to the front and made him dance by himself. (James felt his heart flutter a little at Steve’s raging blush.) The crowd cheered and applauded him while several of the dancers asked him to join their troupe.

“My mother taught me to dance,” Steve replies. He leads James to an area that’s far enough away from the performances and vendors that they don’t need to worry about being in the way, but close enough that they can still see the stage with the Irish dancers. “My asthma was pretty bad, so I wasn’t all that good at it, but I practiced whenever I could.”

“Did you ever perform?”

 “Only for a couple church functions. But we’d go to there every week to dance with the other Irish families.”

“That sounds like fun.”

Steve nods. “I didn’t learn much about her culture as a kid.” He looks upwards. “She was born in Ireland, but she wanted me to fit in, so she didn’t teach me as much as either of us would’ve liked. I guess we both thought we’d have more time.”

James doesn’t comment on the tears he sees Steve blinking away.

\--

A while later, after Steve’s mood has lifted, James hears drum beats coming from the stage to their left and walks over to watch. Female voices start singing, and a woman comes on with a piece of fabric flowing from her hands.

Her hips sway and shake with the beat until there’s a short pause and several more women join her onstage, fabric swirling around each of them.

As they dance, the music is punctuated by them clapping and ululating. James can also hear jingling from the coins dangling from their costumes.

“I’ve never seen a live belly dance performance before,” he hears Steve say beside him.

Three of the women bend backwards, further and further until only their shins, shoulders, and heads are touching the stage, the rest of their bodies arched gracefully. The crowd cheers when the women rise to their feet seemingly without trouble.

More women come onstage, each balancing a sword on her head.

The performance finishes to a roar of applause.

“Thirsty?” Steve says.

James follows his gaze to a smoothie stall. “Sure.”

They scrutinize the flavors while they wait in line. Steve orders the blueberry lavender smoothie.

“Is ube the purple thing?” he asks the man at the counter.

“Yeah, purple yam.”

“Okay. I’ll have the coconut ube smoothie.”

“Purple yam?” Steve says while they’re waiting for their drinks.

“I heard some of the girls at the diner talking about it. It’s Filipino food.”

Steve gives him a doubtful look until they get their drinks and James moans in pleasure when he takes a sip.

“Don’t even think about asking for a taste,” James says.

It doesn’t count that Steve gets to taste it when they kiss.

\--

“Steve! Hey!”

They both turn to see a man with light brown hair running up to them, a cup of coffee clutched in his hand.

“Oh, uh. Hi,” Steve says and gestures at the man, “James, this is Clint. We, uh, we work together.”

“James Rogers,” he holds out a hand, which Clint shakes.

“Clint Barton, nice to meet you.”

“Is—Is Natasha here?” Steve says.

Clint rolls his eyes. “She _was_ , but she left the second she saw the ballet dancers.”

“Natasha works with us,” Steve says to James. “She’s Clint’s girlfriend.”

“She’s a pain in the ass,” Clint adds, the words belying his fond expression. “Just because she’s been doing it since before she can remember, she never thinks anyone else is good enough.” He looks at Steve, “You know, I once asked why she doesn’t go professional. You know what her answer was? Because they’re ‘ _not good enough_ ’ for her. How I, of all people, can be with a snob like her I will never know.”

James finishes his smoothie in order to avoid getting pulled into the conversation.

“I hope you don’t plan on calling her a snob when she can hear you,” Steve says.

“I’m, like, her favorite person. She would never kill me. Probably. I think.” He tries to take a sip of his coffee, realizes its empty, and stares at it forlornly, then eyes James’s smoothie cup. “You guys wanna get something to eat?”

Steve looks at James a little helplessly.

“Okay,” James says.

“Here. I’ll deal with your trash.”

They find a vendor with enough food options for the three of them to choose from. Steve and James both get a hotdog, while Clint buys several deep-fried foods, which he scoffs at after each bite.

“How can they call that a corndog? I could’ve done better when I was six.”

James raises an eyebrow at him. “And you call your girlfriend a snob,” he says, earning a laugh from Steve.

The vendor is located near a stage, so they walk over to watch the performance.

“I agree with your girlfriend,” James says, grimacing at the ballet dancers. “They’re not all that good.”

Clint looks betrayed.

“You realize they’re the New York City Ballet, right?” Steve says.

“Doesn’t mean they’re good.”

“Yes. It does mean they’re good,” Clint replies.

“Come on. _I_ could do better than them.”

Steve looks at him, disbelieving.

“Hey, after your performance with the Irish step dance, you should know better than to assume someone can’t dance.”

Clint chokes on his deep-fried cheesecake. “Irish step dance? Tell me you got video of that.”

“Sorry, I was too busy getting my ass handed to me by Mr. Hidden Talents.”

“Too bad,” Clint shakes his head. “I could’ve blackmailed him into anything with that.”

\--

Clint leaves them a while later, when James and Steve are watching a tap dance performance.

“I’ve had more than enough of sequined outfits in my life,” he says. “Besides, Nat said she’d be back at six to pick me up.”

“It was nice meeting you,” James says, holding out a hand.

Clint shakes his hand again. “You too.”

“I’ll… see you at work,” Steve says.

“Yup. Don’t forget we have a meeting tomorrow and it’s your turn to bring breakfast.”

“Right.”

\--

Steve grabs James’s hand and leads him over to a stage nearby. He can hear swing music playing, and there’s a large group of people dressed in rockabilly fashion.

He looks at the stage and sees an honest-to-god band playing _In the Mood_. Steve gives James a wistful look.

“What?” James says.

Steve squeezes his hand. “Well… I was wondering if you—if you’d like to dance.”

“I’d love to.”

They walk to the nearest corner of the dance floor and Steve pulls James close so he can wrap an arm around him.

James lets Steve lead, and he starts them out with simple footwork.

“That the best you can do?” James asks.

Smirking, Steve unhooks his arm from around James’s back and grabs his other hand. The change to touch-stepping isn’t unexpected, and neither of them miss a beat.

James laughs and allows himself to be spun and turned in time with the music.

Before long, their dancing more or less matches the complexity of the people around them; James can see the other couples dancing in a swirl of bright colors.

At a calmer moment in the song, they go back to touch-steps, but the pair of women next to them doesn’t seem to notice, and one of them flips the other over her shoulders in a flutter of purple fabric.

Steve looks over at James, his eyes wide with excitement.

“Fine,” he says, failing completely at sounding resigned.

There’s a grand swell in the music and James feels himself being lifted off his feet in time with one of the arpeggios. The world spins around him, but he concentrates on the firm support of Steve’s hands.

His feet hit the ground and James can’t help laughing as Steve spins them around with each crescendo until the final one, when he’s dipped.

Steve leans over him, one hand at the small of his back, the other still holding James’s and…

And James finds himself staring into his blue eyes. He feels weighed down by Steve’s gaze, and the weight is accompanied by a familiar tightness in his chest.

“Yeah?” Steve says, and James realizes he whispered Steve’s name.

“I—”

“Oh!”

Purple suddenly dominates James’s vision. He clings to Steve as the blond reaches out to steady the woman who bumped into him. Her dress twirls around her as she catches herself.

“I’m sorry!” she says, a little breathlessly.

James stands back up.

“You okay, Jess?” he hears. Another woman is standing behind him. Unlike Jess, she’s wearing skinny jeans and a t-shirt, and her hair has been styled into a suicide roll, the curls kept in place by a bandana that’s the same shade of purple as Jess’s outfit.

Jess nods. Her face is flushed, but she smiles.

“You wanna finish what you were saying?” the other woman asks. Her eyes flick downwards, and James notices the tiny box Jess is clutching in one hand.

Jess takes a breath, then gets down on one knee. “Louisa Jameson, when we first met, I was so amazed by how wonderful you are. You’re the most selfless, caring person I’ve ever met, and every day I work to be worthy of your love.” She opens the box, exposing a silver ring with a three small diamonds clustered on top. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you by my side. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Louisa’s eyes shine with tears. She opens her mouth, but isn’t able to speak until she clears her throat.

“Yes. Absolutely, yes,” she says.

Jess stands back up and takes Louisa’s hand so she can slip the ring onto her finger.

Louisa chuckles a little. “Where the hell have you been hiding that ring?”

“I told you my dress had pockets,” Jess replies with a grin, leaning in to kiss her.

The women pull apart and notice their small audience.

Steve has spent the whole time holding James’s hand, but doesn’t let go when he congratulates them.

“Thanks!” Louisa replies as Jess says, “Sorry about before.”

“That’s fine,” Steve says. “I loved your dancing.”

The band starts up again, and James sees a woman has joined them, looking straight out of the 1940s with a red dress that reminds him of the flamenco dancers from before, and her black hair in perfectly coiffed victory rolls.

 “Do you know this one?” Louisa says to Jess, who shakes her head.

Steve answers, “It’s—”

“ _De-Lovely_ ,” James finishes for him.

Steve beams at James.

“If—If it’s okay,” Steve says, blushing, “we could dance with you.”

James nods in agreement.

Jess and Louisa glance at each other and smile. “Okay,” Louisa says.

Steve holds out a hand to Louisa while James bows to Jess. Giggling, she takes his hand and they begin to dance.

“So, how long have you two been dating?” she asks.

“We met a week ago.”

“Seriously? A week?”

“Yeah.”

Jess glances at Steve and Louisa, who are dancing a few feet away, having their own conversation. “I would’ve guessed you’d been together for years.”

“Nope.”

“Then what you’ve got with him is really special.”

“You have something special too, you know.”

“I do know.”

James spins her a few times, watching her dress flutter around her.

They keep dancing until they nearly bump into Steve and Louisa. James curls his arm around Jess to make sure she doesn’t fall while Louisa reaches over, leads her to take Steve’s hand, and kisses Jess as they trade dance partners.

James grins as he wraps an arm around Louisa.

“You know, you two are amazing dancers,” he says.

“Thanks,” she says. “We actually met at a dance class. There were more women than men, so we got paired up and we just… clicked. I think our dance teacher hoped we would start bringing in men, but we stuck together.”

“That decision seems to have paid off,” James says with a nod towards the ring on her hand.

Louisa shakes her head. “I don’t know how she managed to hide that ring from me.”

“Well if she’s going to hide something from you, it might as well be that she’s planning on proposing.” James glances towards Steve and Jess.

Steve seems to feel his gaze and they make eye contact.

At the same moment, they spin the women close enough together that Jess can reach out and start dancing with Louisa again.

They spend the rest of the song trading partners back and forth until the four of them can hardly stand with how hard they’re laughing. The music starts back up and they all move out of the way so their giggling doesn’t disturb anyone wanting to dance to _Mood Indigo_.

As they reach the outside of the crowd, James notices that Steve is panting a little.

“Your breathing okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” Steve says.

James keeps an eye on him as they walk from the stage with the orchestra. When Steve notices that he’s being scrutinized, he rolls his eyes.

“Really, I’m fine.”

Jess and Louisa are holding hands and talking quietly to one another, so Steve and James say their goodbyes quickly.

As they walk away, James looks back and sees them taking a selfie, Louisa holding her hand in the air to show off the ring.

\--

They’re sitting in James’s apartment when Steve looks over at James.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks.

“Of course.”

“I just… I was worried.”

“Steve. You don’t need to worry about that. I like being around you. I’d enjoy watching crappy reality shows if you were with me.”

“I feel the same.” Steve reaches out and takes James’s hand.

James leans over and kisses him. “Great. Because our first date made me really look forward to the second. Of course, since the first one was my idea, you have to plan the second one.”

“I haven’t planned anything yet.”

“That’s fine. We’ll figure it out together,” James says. He turns so he can curl up against Steve, but is interrupted when Steve’s stomach growls.

Steve blushes. “Sorry.”

“You wanna have dinner?”

“Actually, I think I should go,” he replies. “I still have to figure out what I’m bringing my coworkers tomorrow, which isn’t as easy as you may think.”

“Okay.”

As they stand up, James grabs the jacket he loaned Steve from where its hanging off the back of his sofa. “Here,” he says as he gives it to the blond.

“Are you sure?”

“It fits you better than me.”

Steve hands it back. “I’ll leave it here,” he says. “In case my friend decides to punish me again.”

James laughs and kisses his cheek. “I guess that makes sense.”

He steps forward when a strong arm pull him in for a proper kiss.

“I love you,” Steve whispers against his lips.

James is almost too stunned to say it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
> I hope no one gave up on the idea of me updating this! Sorry it took so long, but this chapter just. Would. Not. Happen.
> 
> I really don’t know that much about dancing, but I took two years of dance PE in high school, which I didn’t particularly enjoy, and a semester of belly dance in college, which I thoroughly enjoyed. However, if anyone needs information on the dance terminology, let me know!
> 
> Also, the date was originally supposed to happen at an Irish Dance festival, but I decided I simply didn’t know enough about that form of dance to do an entire chapter on it. 
> 
> The song the belly dancers perform to is Habib Galbi
> 
> For all you trivia buffs,  In the Mood  is  not the only song of its kind.  There are several tunes that were based on the rhythmically displaced arpeggios in a song called  Tar Paper Stomp.  One of those songs,  Hot and Anxious , was used in the show Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries. 
> 
> Also, I’ve gotten a few questions about the last names in this. I’m not going to answer them beyond saying that they’re switched because it’s funny and the reasoning for it will come up later in the story.

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](lourdesdeath.tumblr.com)


End file.
